Posts (page 2)
Jesus god, am I a lazy fuck.
I simply don't want to do anything except sit on my ass, drink hippie tea, and listen to Gram Parsons for the next 48 hours. Instead, I have to headline 3 shows at a local comedy club, and brother, let me tell you, I am already planning to phone it right the fuck in.
I will do the first four bits from the first record, the first four bits from the second record, and then thankyougoodnightyou'vebeengreat and out.
I am lame.
I just sent out the first query letter to the dream agent (well, the only dream agent that accepts unsolicited queries), and I can now start trying to get this book published in earnest.
Of course, thanks to my local post office, I'm querying a hardboiled crime novel with fucking flower stamps, but c'est la vie.
15 minutes ago, I found myself walking across the sun-baked parking lot of a dead mall, carrying an 18-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon with one hand and updating my Flickr page with the other.
What a truly wonderful world this is.
So I've been playing around with Mugshot, yet another Web 2.0 thing designed to kind of aggregate all your friends and services in one place. I gotta say, I really like it. Only problem is, absolutely none of my friends are on it, so really, I'm just sending updates to myself. It's kind of sad.
Any of you techo-hipsters want an invite so you can try out some cool tech and keep an old, bald man from being lonely?
Found a couple of old videos stashed in a folder on my web server. Chucked 'em up on YouTube and posting 'em for you here:
It doesn't matter why I slept in my car in my driveway last night*. But I did, and it sucked.
Also, I peed on some bees. They know why.
*No, the answer is not "drinking."
So me and the Missus had a bit of an argument today about laundry and how many work shirts I had available to me. I left for the day in the only one that wasn't wrinkled, a black button-up that I always think looks, please forgive me, "too Italian." I wore it under protest and assumed I looked pretty dumb.
My friend Linda* at work just informed me that she loves the shirt. I thanked her. "No," she said. "I love that shirt. If you had a cowboy hat on, I'd throw you on the conference table right now."
I officially apologize to the Missus for doubting this shirt. Long live wrinkled laundry!
*Linda is a very good friend, but not a threat to the marriage. Besides, I don't own a Harley, so I'm really not her type.
I have fully and completely embraced coffee as my one last unabashed vice (which is to say, I have others, but I feel bad about them; not so sweet java). The day gig has free unlimited cups of the stuff, and I avail myself as often as possible. It's one of them cup-at-a-time machines, where you put in the little plastic pod, and press a button, and out comes your fix, er, a delicious cup of joe. I can't even imagine how environmentally unfriendly this system must be, but I tell myself that using an unwashed ceramic mug somehow brings me back into balance. Anyway, I'm guzzling some hot, delicious Sumatra Blend even as I write this.
You'd think, with all this caffeine, I'd get something fucking DONE, wouldn't you?
Alas, not so.
So I work out about five days a week and have for years. You wouldn't know it to look at me, but that's the topic for another (and far more depressing) post.
Anyway, I've recently mixed my workouts up to include a lot more lifting and a much smarter plan for lifting (that is to say, one designed by someone who knows what they're doing instead of just sort of winging it every time). I've dubbed my new routine Operation: Huge.
So part of Operation: Huge is getting much more protein, mostly from shakes made out of the powder that comes in those ridiculously huge jugs you see at GNC and that are really kind of embarrassing to take to work on the train. There's a local sport supplement shop near me, and since I always try to buy local if possible, that's where I get my stuff. The last two times I was there, I bought this stuff called Optimum Nutrition 100% Whey, which gets good reviews and was decently affordable, AND which the guy who owned the shop recommended heartily.
I went today to get more, and the shop's changed hands. The new guy, predictably, told me how he didn't like Optimum Nutrition 100% Whey, that it was okay, but it was like a Hyundai, an old Hyundai, that would get you there, but that's all. So then, predictably, he started trying to upsell me. What the hey...he just bought a new shop, he wants dough, fair enough.
So he points out something he *really* recommends. He goes into the science behind it and the amino acids and the peptides and the blah blah blah, and whatever. It's more than I want to spend, but maybe I'll give it a whack. Then he drops the bomb, "People have been getting really good results from this. I make it myself, you know."
Homemade protein powder in a plain white bottle? Uh, I don't think so. Do I look like Jason Giambi to you? I mean, even IF it's good stuff and not steroids or just Nestle's Quik that he jerked off in, I mean, I have to assume the FDA hasn't had a chance to look at this guy's nutritional version of bathtub gin.
No way, Jose.
So I took the whole thing sideways and bought something totally different - IsoWhey Breezer Citrus Punch flavor. It looks pretty good to me, and it tastes like a dream, so the Mad Chemist can totally bite me.
P.S. If anyone reading this DOES know what they're doing and DOES have an independent opinion on such things, I'd appreciate some good, non-crazy advice.
I just got done booking two tickets to Colorado for the end of August so that Knucklehead #1 and myself can visit his grandparents on their home turf. I'm excited for any number of reasons - decent Mexican food, seeing some old friends, showing my son around where I grew up, letting him and his grandparents bond a bit, and just soaking up some serious Rocky Mountain atmosphere.
I never knew I'd miss the West as much as I do.
It's especially weird because I kind of hate my home town: Colorado Springs. I always tell people that if Donald Rumsfeld was a city, it would be Colorado Springs. It was always kind of a grey, conservative place, being home to no fewer than 5 military bases (and NORAD - it was strange growing up knowing you lived next door to the Soviets' #1 nuke target). And then in the early 90's, family-values and conservative Christian groups infested the city like so many bible-thumping cockroaches, and my town really changed right before my eyes.
So I miss it, and yet I hate it, and yet I can't wait to go back.
(The knucklehead in question)
